There is an old, historic village in Salem, North Carolina. Every Easter morning, in the early hours of this day, thousands of people, many of them tourists who have come especially for this event, make their way towards the courtyard in front of a 200-year-old church, founded by the Moravians. Before daylight, five hundred members of various brass bands echo hymns from different parts of the city. Everyone converges on Salem Square to listen to the mystical-sounding music. As the first hint of the rising sun begins to soften the darkness, a hush falls over the vast throng of worshipers. When the church bell tolls at 6 a. m., the Bishop emerges from the church and announces in a loud, unwav…